


Spectrum

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Series: When Tommy met Alfie AU [27]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Claustrophobia, Homophobia, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, characters caught in room together -trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: An accident in a warehouse leaves Tommy trapped in the cellar with three of Alfie’s workers. He’d rather not spend more time than absolutely necessary with some of them. And especially not in a room that feels smaller with each passing second.In the dark awaiting rescue, there isn’t much else to do besides talk.





	Spectrum

 

“Well, fuck me,” Tommy sighs as he surveys the damage in the warehouse, taking in the blackened walls and the burnt out carcasses of boxes and vehicles.

“Later, sweetheart,” Alfie whispers in his ear, a hand slipping down his backside to grope him. “Bit messy here. Know you don’t like getting your clothes all dirty.”

Tommy tries to look disapproving of the comment, he really does. But judging from Alfie’s leer, he’s not succeeding.

“Yeah, suppose you’re right. And work comes first, doesn’t it?” he says and firmly pulls Alfie’s hand away from his arse. Spending the afternoon overseeing the cleanup in a burnt out warehouse is perhaps not the most riveting thing in the world, but it’s definitely necessary.

It’s well past noon when Tommy eventually looks at his watch.

“The people working in the cellar should probably be taking a break.” 

“Just give me a minute and I’ll take care of it,” Alfie says, glancing up from a wad of papers. “I don’t want you going down there.”

Tommy rolls his eyes.

“The firemen said it’s safe. And we can’t really have people working there if we won’t go down there ourselves.”

“You know that’s not what it’s about.” Alfie lowers his voice as he looks up at Tommy again, eyes soft. “Just don’t want you pushing yourself too hard with these things, love. Closed spaces and the sort. Pretty fucking eerie that cellar, too.”  

 Tommy ignores him and sets for the stairs, Alfie’s mutters following him, “Yeah, yeah, do whatever, as usual. Stubborn little thing. Fucking hell, just go ahead…”

The smell of smoke and charred wood overwhelms him as he descends to the cellar’s first floor, only growing stronger as he continues down yet another level. But there are worse smells, and it’s distracting him from the feeling of being swallowed by the earth.

When he sets his feet on the floor and takes in the narrow corridor stretching before him, and the ceiling hanging low over his head, Tommy briefly curses himself for going down here in the first place. But he doesn’t linger on that thought, unwilling to admit that Alfie may be right even to himself.

 A rumble above him sends his heart racing.

Then he remembers that this part of the building is situated under the train tracks. It’s a freight train thundering by above, and the whole room seems to shake under its weight. His steps are perhaps a bit more hurried than usual as he walks down the corridor.

The storage room is a not quite as unpleasant as the burnt out hallway, being lit by a few lightbulbs running on haphazardly installed electrical wiring. Tommy finds David, Ishmael and Ollie working on getting it cleaned up, lugging the debris into a corner.

“Afternoon Mister Shelby.” Ishmael greets him with a wave that almost has him dropping the box that he’s trying to stack on the pile.

Before Tommy can respond, something comes swinging behind him and his reflexes save him as a blackened wood beam narrowly misses his head.

“Sorry princess, didn’t see you there.” David’s back is turned against him as he dumps the beam down onto the pile with the others, but Tommy can hear the fucking smirk in his voice.

Tommy fixes him with an icy stare. “Didn’t quite catch that, David.”

David turns and flashes a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, nothing important _Mister Shelby_.”

They stare each other down for a long moment. The tension in the room grows and Tommy is pretty sure Ollie has stopped breathing altogether. Fuck it -he doesn’t have the time or the energy for this. Better to just take care of it when they’re at the bakery. Or anywhere but a rundown cellar.

“You should probably take a breather,” he states, and sees Ollie relax visibly. “Been down here a little too long already.”

None of the men are hard to convince. 

Glad to be escaping the cellar again, Tommy makes his way back through the corridor with Ishmael and David trailing behind him, having what seems to be a rather heated discussion. He recognizes the curse words at least, because Alfie uses them whenever he burns something in the kitchen.

Another train crashes by overhead, the rumbling sending tremors through the building. The walls shake as the whole structure complains under the weight. And they continue to shake. The noise echoes above them. Around them. Wood cracking, tumbling rocks… A deeply ingrained feeling of dread shoots up his spine. The sound of a tunnel collapsing.

For a moment Tommy is wavering in a foggy state of confusion, unsure whether this is all in his head or not. But then he sees the frown on Ishmael’s face. No, it’s real. Not some figment of his imagination. Real danger.

Run for the stairs, or back into the room, where the concrete walls could provide some protection? He’s got less than a second to make the call.

The stairs are too far away.

Turning and grabbing both Ishmael and David in one motion, Tommy pushes them backwards.

Struggling, David hisses at him, “Get your fucking-“

Tommy cuts him off. “Back in the room, now.“

Maybe it’s the sense of urgency in his grip, or maybe the panic is visible in his eyes. In any case, Ishmael and David let themselves be ushered backwards.

A thunderous sound erupts behind them; walls collapsing, wooden beams breaking and thousands upon thousands of tons of rocks falling. Tommy feels the weight as it lands on the floor, the concrete vibrating with the force…

David curses loudly when something hits his shoulder, stumbling beside him. Tommy drags him up, pushing Ishmael in front of him. In through the door. He gets a glimpse of Ollie’s wide eyes before the light goes out and they’re enveloped by darkness. David’s weight drags him down. The furniture is tumbling down around them and he’s knocked to the ground as something lands on his back.

Another moment of ear shattering noise.

Then everything is quiet.

And pitch black.

His cheek is pressed against the cold floor and he breathes, breathes, fills his lungs with air, he can do that, he’s not buried.

There’s a shrill ringing in his ears.

He pulls himself up onto shaking knees, whatever debris that landed on his back falling away. He can move. _Not buried_. Breathes. Breathes- he can taste blood in his mouth. He chokes out words, still.

“Everyone alright?”

Pained groans.

“Care to… elaborate?” Tommy swallows, nails digging into his palms. Keep calm. Fight back the instinctive response of panic.

“I’m alright.” Ishmael first one to speak up. Ollie gives a similar muttered answer.  

There’s a string of supposed curses somewhere to his right.

“David?”  

“Fuck, fuck, goddamn fucking hell-“

Tommy fumbles across the floor until his fingers meet with the solid shape of a body. David lets out an undignified shriek.

“Calm down,” Tommy says firmly, gripping his upper arms and squinting in the dark to catch a glimpse of his face. “You hurt?”

“Think that piece of rubble knocked my fucking shoulder out of its socket.”

“But your head’s alright? And your back?”  

David mutters some foul words, but eventually gets a _yes_ out. Tommy squints in the dark and feels something wet on his palm.

“You’re bleeding from somewhere.”

“It’s fine,” David growls and pulls himself loose, hissing in pain. “Get off.”

Tommy lets his hands drop to his sides.

“Are we trapped in here?” Ollie draws in a ragged breath. Then another. And another.

“Try to slow your breathing, Ollie,” Tommy says, switching focus. “It’ll help.”   

“How are you so fucking calm!” Ollie shouts, a hysterical twinge to his voice. “We could- we could die down here- What if the air runs out and-“

“Calm the fuck down, Ollie,” David snaps. “Fucks sake…”

Tommy crawls over to where Ollie’s frantic breathing comes from, hands trailing up his arms and grabbing his shoulders tightly.

“Hey, listen to me now, just breathe. In slowly, hold it, and then out- simple as that, alright?” He uses the same tone as he would speaking to a frightened horse. “You can count. That helps. In on one, two three, four-“ Tommy draws calm, even breaths into his lungs. Ollie’s hands shoot up and grasp his wrists, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Tommy lets him.

“We’re not going to run out of air,” he says firmly. “People upstairs must’ve noticed the fucking cellar caving in. They’re already digging through the rubble. We’ll be out of here in a few hours, at most.”

“How the fuck... do you know... anything?” Ollie gasps.

“I worked in the tunnels, during the war, remember? Dug ourselves out when one of them collapsed. So I reckon we can survive sitting tight until they come to help us.”

The air whistles as Ollie drags it down his lungs through a too tight throat, and Tommy can almost feel the sensation in his own body. Forcing himself to continue heeding his own advice, he gradually hears the panicked breaths slowing.

Ollie finally releases his wrists and Tommy pulls himself upright, using the wall to find his way towards the caved in corridor. _Think rationally_. Shut down all the emotions and just act. Just like in the tunnels.

Even though his eyes have grown slightly accustomed to the darkness, he still can’t see anything but vague outlines of objects. Searching his inner pocket, he retrieves a lighter.

“You had a lantern in here somewhere, right?”

“Should be over here,” Ishmael mutters and shuffles around. “Yeah, it’s here alright.” Tommy makes his way towards the sound –the fewer of them walking about and risking stumbling over something, the better.

Soon, a warm, flickering flame illuminates the room. Tommy takes a moment to process the situation, focusing on this rather than the panic lurking right below the surface. Ollie is pale as a sheet, eyes still too wide, but is at least not bordering on complete hysteria anymore. Ishmael seems calm enough. David has propped himself up against a wall, one of his arms slung across his lap and with a steadily growing bloodstain colouring the jacket sleeve. He refuses to meet Tommy’s gaze.

“You should be lying down,” Tommy states and steps over his legs on his way to the corridor. “If you faint. Don’t need to add any injuries here.”

“A nurse now too, are you Shelby?” David mutters and gives him another glare.  

Tommy just walks onwards towards the door. “I’m a man of many talents.”  

David mutters something scornful about ‘women’s work’, and the implications aren’t lost on Tommy. He knows perfectly well what David thinks of him. Although he’s usually a bit more discreet  with his aversion, keeping it to the odd glare or some muttered mockery when Alfie is beyond earshot at the bakery.

The door is ajar and he pushes it open slowly, holding up the lantern to illuminate the carcass of the hallway. Dirt, bricks and wooden beams have created a wall reaching all the way up to the ceiling, just a little ways down the corridor. Close call, then. A moment later and they would’ve been crushed under that. Not a sound can be heard from the other side, meaning there must be a substantial amount of debris between them and the people hopefully working on digging through it.

If the entire corridor has caved in, it may take days before someone comes…

What if they think the entire cellar has collapsed? Would they bother digging their way through all that rubble then?  

The thought sends a jolt of fear through his guts.

No. No need for that.  

Alfie would do it. He’d never leave Tommy down here. Even if he only hoped to find a broken body underneath the debris.

A train passes overhead again. It makes the wall shake. His throat closes up for the briefest of moments before he pulls himself away from the edge. The rest of the cellar could just decide to come down over them, but that’s not something he’s about to tell the others.

Returning to the room, Tommy sets the lantern down on the floor and seats himself by the wall. He keeps his distance to the others.

“No chance of moving that rubble ourselves?  Ishmael asks.

Tommy shakes his head. “We’d just be wasting our energy. And it’s too dangerous- they’ll have to stabilize the other end before they start-“ his trails off. Can’t be bothered to explain all the fucking technicalities. “We’re just going to have to wait.”

Ishmael gives a slow nod.

A strange silence fills the room. All that’s heard are the ragged breaths of the four men as they each lose themselves in their own thoughts. Tommy desperately tries to keep his under control.

Ollie suddenly lets out a chuckle. “Lucky that we’ve got you down here with us, Shelby. Solomons will be doing everything to get us out. Wouldn’t want to be up there with him now. Bet he’s fucking livid.”

Tommy snorts.

“Sure hope you put out last night,” David jeers, a snide smirk on his face. “If our fucking lives depend on… yeah, whatever you let Solomons do to you in the bedroom-“ Something comes flying through the room, hitting his uninjured arm with a thud and David curses and shoots a glare in Ollie’s direction.

“For once in your fucking life, shut the fuck up,” Ollie spits. “Don’t waste the oxygen on that bullshit.”  

“Ollie, it’s fine,” Tommy says blankly and leans back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling and the shadows flickering there. “It… doesn’t matter.”  

Not now. Not here, in the damp, cold darkness. Caught together in a cellar, slowly suffocating- what does it matter?

David lets out a scornful noise, but stays silent after that.

Tommy wishes he could smoke. He reaches into his pocket and runs his thumb over the lighter. It’s the one Alfie bought for him.

Soon enough, Ishmael produces a flask that’s passed around, and the content is so strong it tears at his throat when he swallows. He’s got a creeping suspicion it’s not just the everyday rum. It only takes a few minutes before a thin veil settles over his senses. Not enough to numb them. Not nearly. And Tommy wants to just drain the flask. Fucking pass out and escape from this-

He tries to focus on his surroundings. The people in it. Just like in the war. Make sure everyone else is safe and sane –as much as anyone can be during the circumstances, at least.

Ollie has closed his eyes, muttering something quietly under his breath while Ishmael stares blankly into the flame of the lantern. Not without reluctance, he glances at David, discovering he’s gone alarmingly pale. The stain on his jacket sleeve doesn’t seem to stop growing. Seems unnecessary, that he should die from a fucking scratch on the arm, even if he’s a piece of shit.

Sighing, Tommy moves to his side.

“Take that jacket off-“

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

David’s comment is met by a biting reply from Ollie that Tommy can’t understand. He bites back another sigh and tries to channel some sort of inner strength. Some of Polly’s sensibility perhaps…

“We’ve got to get that wound sorted. But if you prefer to bleed out that’s fine by me.”

David reluctantly lets Tommy pull the jacket off. The shirt underneath is slashed too- Seems like something’s pierced it. But the object in question is gone now, leaving a gaping wound that oozes blood. Unwilling to put himself through more of David’s taunting comments by asking him to take the shirt off too, Tommy uses his own shirt and winds it tightly around the injury to stop the blood flow.  

He doesn’t get a thanks, but he doesn’t expect one either.

Shrugging into his jacket again, he reverts back to his spot by the wall, already feeling the loss of the extra layer of clothing. Fuck, why is it always so  _fucking_ cold everywhere?

Silence fills the room again.

Tommy closes his eyes for just a moment, tries to imagine that it’s just any old room. If he’d like, he could walk out the door at any moment…  

Ishmael is the one to finally break the silence, “If we never get out of here-“

“We  _are_ getting out of here,” Ollie snaps.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, just trying to create some distraction here before your fucking eyes fall out of their sockets,” Ishmael scoffs. “If we never got out of here, what would your biggest regret be?”

“Getting stuck in this cellar with you lot,” David grumbles. Ishmael rolls his eyes and sets them on Tommy, who feels forced to answer. He does so with a shrug.

“I don’t do regret.”

But his mind wanders. As much as he’d like to think that he doesn’t indulge himself with dwelling on the past, there are probably quite a few of them if he starts digging through his memories.

The latest being that he didn’t kiss Alfie when they parted ways earlier.

Or not listening to him and staying out of the cellar altogether.

When was the last time they did kiss?

They kissed… this morning. Alfie lounged around in bed as usual on weekdays; tried to keep him there too by refusing to let Tommy out of his embrace. “ _Just a few more minutes, love_.” And Tommy squirmed out of his arms, giving him a chaste kiss before leaving the bedroom to make tea.

If he’d known this was how the day would end, he would’ve stayed.

“Well, I call bullshit on that.” He just barely hears Ishmael’s voice. “I for one regret never traveling to the seaside. Should’ve taken my girls there sometime-”  

Perhaps he does regret things. But if he never got out of here, what he’d really want is just more time. With Alfie. Not too long ago, the mere prospect of living another thirty- forty, or god forbid fifty years, seemed absolutely terrifying, like an endless sea nothing just stretching before him. Now, all he wants is more time…

“Let’s put it this way then: what’s the very first thing you’ll do when you  _do_ get out of here.” Ishmael’s voice come from so far away now. “See I’m going home to my kids. Tell them I love them. Kiss my wife. That sort of thing. Oh, and I’m making a solemn promise never to enter any dilapidating basements.”

Ollie hums in agreement.

“Yeah, will probably be doing something of the sort.” David’s voice is a little softer now.  

“What about you then, eh, Shelby?” Ishmael wonders.

Tommy hopes it’s not visible, the way he snaps out of the thoughts.

“Smoke.”

Ishmael groans and Ollie actually rolls his fucking eyes.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Ishmael snorts. “Go on, all equals down here aren’t we?”

 Tommy suddenly feels so fucking fed up. With all of them. With everything.

“Fine, I’ll go home and suck Alfie’s cock,” he snaps. “Is that what you want to fucking hear?” 

Go home, take a bath while Alfie cooks dinner, fall asleep on the sofa with his head in Alfie’s lap…

But why would any of them believe that?

Why would he want to tell them?

Ishmael laughs, loud enough to make Tommy fear the ceiling may just come down over them after all. Ollie snorts out a laugh too. David sits in stony silence.   

“That’s more like it,” Ishmael chuckles. “Sounds like a proper evening to me.”

Tommy stares up at the ceiling. 

“I think you’re really cute together,” Ollie suddenly slurs. He’s been holding onto the flask for some time, and Ishmael takes it away from him and tosses it to Tommy, who takes a long swig.

“This is what hell is like,” he mutters under his breath and digs his fingers into his eye sockets, earning another laugh from Ishmael.

Conversation moves to slightly less jarring topics for a while. Ishmael talks about his oldest daughter learning the violin, laughing heartily as he explains just how terrible it sounds. “But just you wait. Bet with some practice, she’ll be brilliant.”

The rum has gone straight to Ollie’s head, and he talks about his fiancé at length…

Tommy mostly listens.

Another train. Another minute of the structure groaning around them –metal shifting and wood cracking. Tommy resists the urge to cover his ears or curl up into a ball. He swallows down the sour bile rising in the back of his throat.

David cackles drily, wincing in pain as his shoulder is jostled. Their eyes meet through the dim light.

“Regret getting into this lifestyle now, do you Shelby? Not as fucking glamourous as it seems from the outside?”

“For fucks sake, leave him alone.” It’s Ishmael speaking up. Tommy wishes he’d just be silent.

“All I’m saying it’s a bit different here at the bottom of the ladder. As opposed to between Solomons’ posh sheets.”

Tommy blinks slowly.

He’s spent almost his entire life at the bottom of that fucking ladder. David doesn’t know. 

Why should he be bothered to learn anything about his boss’ new pet?

“You’re free to think whatever the fuck you want, David,” he says coldly. “But I’d appreciate if you kept it to yourself. Or I might regret dragging you out of that corridor.”  

He bores his eyes into David’s until the other man lowers his gaze to stare at the ground.

For just a moment, Tommy wants to tell him. About sleeping on a mattress on the floor for years because they couldn’t afford a bed.  Or going hungry for so many days that it eventually just ebbed out to a dull ache. Running barefoot in the snow in threadbare clothing…

“Well, it’s sort of an interesting question actually. I’d always fancied myself a chimney sweep, if I hadn’t ended up, well, doing this,” Ishmael pipes up. “Bet it’s a nice view from up there.”

“Could’ve just been a regular baker. That would’ve been fine,” Ollie says, before nodding at Tommy. “What would you have done then?”

Tommy shifts in his seat, not feeling particularly inclined to share anything about himself. But the air is getting thinner by the minute, each breath only giving him the slightest bit of oxygen-

If he doesn’t talk, he’ll lose himself in his own head.

“I wanted to work with horses,” he says and fastens his gaze on the ceiling. “But then our father left. The war came. And someone needed to… take care of things. Make proper money. Suppose if things had been different, that’s what I would’ve liked to do.”

Every word feels like peeling off a tiny bit of himself and he already regrets saying anything at all.

He waits for another jab from David. The ceiling resembles a dirt road on a scorching hot day, littered with jagged cracks. He looks down again.

David’s eyes are glazed over, an odd little smile ghosting over his lips.

“I used to pass by a stable on my way to the factory when I was little,” he says. “There was this horse there. A black mare. Most beautiful thing you ever saw. Would’ve liked to get my daughter a horse like that some day.” The flame in the lantern reflects in his eyes as he adds quietly, “Wish I could’ve given her a better life. I’d like something… more for her. Suppose that’s what makes it worth it, all this shit.”

“Yeah. Suppose so.” There are a lot of people Tommy wishes he could’ve given a better life. The words just slip out.

David raises his eyebrows.

“You have a kid?”

“No. But I’ve got… a whole lot of siblings.” Tommy smiles faintly, the mere thought feeling like a comfort. “My youngest brother is twelve. When I was his age I didn’t even have a pair shoes. Suppose some things are better now.”

David looks at him. And it perhaps his eyes are not quite as full of spite anymore.

Tommy clears his throat and takes another swig of rum before reluctantly handing over the flask to Ishmael.

The hours drag themselves by.

Tommy forces himself to stay focused on the conversation. It flows a little easier now. Maybe it’s the shock, the alcohol, or some subconscious fear that they may in fact die down here, but they’re all too tired to bicker. Instead they talk about their children. Their wives. The sort of things men in peril resort to, in an effort to remember something better.

Tommy constantly has to fight to say something. Anything. He tells them a little about his family. It’s easier, that, not talking about himself. David’s outright hostility has faded a bit, but Tommy’s always painfully aware that there are things he’s not allowed to talk about. Parts of his life which will be met with that revulsion. It shouldn’t bother him. It doesn’t, usually. But something about the situation has made his skin thinner, and he feels oddly vulnerable. He still talks, using his words sparsely and focusing mostly on what the others are saying. Can’t just shut down. Has to keep it together.

It’s utterly draining. The thin air, the darkness, the moving shadows… and he doesn’t want to be here- wants to be with Alfie, where he’s safe. Loved. Not constantly reminded how strange he is, how wrong he is-

He bites the inside of his cheek. Digs his nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood. Anything to keep him grounded. He can’t lose it. Not in here, not in front of these people-

Ollie has been talking about his fiancé’s cooking. “Who takes care of that at your place?”

It takes a while before Tommy realises the question is directed at him and he blinks. Clears his throat.

“Alfie. I can’t cook for shit.”

“You could hire someone.”

“We don’t… want people in the house.” Tommy leaves it at that. Then he smiles a little. “And Alfie likes to cook.”

He pictures Alfie standing by the stove, humming something to himself as he stirs in a pot.  

“He any good?” David sounds genuinely curious.

“Yeah.” The flame in the lantern has grown smaller. Soon they’ll have to sit and wait here in the dark. Tommy lets his mind wander. “One time… I found him just staring off into space, all wide eyed… He thought he’d baked one of his rings into the bread.” The memory makes him let out a faint laugh that eases some of the strain in his chest. “But it had just fallen down onto the floor.”

He can’t look up at the others, regretting letting his resolve slip enough to say that.

But Ollie laughs.

“Always losing stuff, isn’t he? God, my job got so much easier when you turned up and took over the task of ‘finding missing shit that Solomons definitely, absolutely, left in one place but that’s somehow disappeared into thin air’.”

Both Ishmael and David laugh too. A warm, genuine laughter.

Tommy is suddenly grateful that Ollie is there. And he’s grateful all together not to be alone.

More time passes. The hours melt together into a string of foggy darkness, the light of the lantern fading steadily.

Eventually, they’re all too exhausted to keep a conversation going. Definitely a bad sign. Tommy stares down at his pale hands. Tries to swallow. But his mouth is so dry. How many hours have they been down here? Eight? Ten? It’s impossible to tell.

When the light inevitably goes out, a new kind of silence settles in the room.

David’s voice is oddly unsteady when he speaks up, “What if…” he swallows thickly. “What if we’ll have to die in the dark?”

“No one’s dying.” Tommy says as firmly as he can manage. “Not here at least. You’ll be home with… your wife… and your kids in- in just a few hours.” He fights to keep his voice calm, hoping the others can’t tell how hard his heart is beating. “It’ll be alright.”

Ollie has reverted back to his quiet muttering in the corner.

Tommy closes his eyes. Pulls his knees up to his chest, burying his face against them. No one can see it, in the dark. What does it matter if he looks pathetic? 

He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

When the shovels begin scraping he has to fight the urge to retch. _It’s okay, it’s not real-_ it’s just in his head-

But after so many hours, that mantra does little to help…

“Well, I’ll be damned, seems like we’re finally getting out of here.” Ishmael’s voice floats through the fog, pulling him out.

“Took them long enough.” Ollie’s laugh has a slightly manic twinge to it.

It’s not in his head, because the shovels are working away at the wall of rubble out in the corridor. Tommy stands up, the world spinning before his eyes, and has to hold onto the wall for support.

“Stay in here,” he tells the dark figure that he presumes is Ishmael. “The fewer people out in that hallway the better.”

When he exits the room, he hears it clearly. Shovels scraping against the debris.

Voices. He can hear voices.

_It’s just like the tunnels._

A shovel breaks through a crack right by the ceiling. A rock tumbles down, leaving a hole the size of a fist through which a warm stream of light seeps into the corridor. Tommy has to fight the urge to either run for cover or climb up there and start tearing away the rubble himself.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” An unknown voice calls from the opening, echoing between the walls.  

“I’m- we’re here,” Tommy calls out.

The sound of falling debris. A new voice.

“Tommy?”

Alfie’s voice.

“Yeah.” He’s not sure if Alfie can hear him, his dry throat muffles the word.

Cursing, orders for someone to hurry the fuck up-

“Thank God, thank fucking God-“ Alfie’s voice is oddly thick too, cracking slightly. “You hurt?”

Tommy tries to answer, he really does, but his throat refuses to cooperate and all that comes out is some broken noise.

“Tommy? Just hold on, we’ll be there- For fucks sake mate, give me that thing- bloody useless-“ Alfie continues muttering curses.

Another rock falls away, and now the hole is suddenly big enough for a person to fit through and so much light shines into the corridor that Tommy is blinded and has to close his eyes. There’s an onslaught of rocks tumbling down the pile. More curses.

Then, he’s pulled into a tight, warm hug. He buries his face against a familiar chest. Wraps his arms around an equally familiar neck and clings to it. Alfie’s safe voice and scent and whole presence just envelops him. His breathing hitches as he draws too much air in at once.

“Shh, it’s alright, love, I’ve got you, you’re safe now,” Alfie whispers and rubs his back. “You’re okay, yeah? Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”  

Suddenly he’s shaking so hard he can barely stand.

But that’s alright. Safe- Safe- he’s safe now.

He can be weak here. Alfie holds him together.

“Hey, you okay? You hurt somewhere?” When Alfie pulls out of the hug to get a better look at him, Tommy kisses him. Alfie’s lips under his own feels like the first truly real and solid thing in hours… Alfie breathes new life into him. Grounds him again.

Eventually Alfie beaks the kiss, gently grabbing his shoulders to give him a onceover.

It’s now that Tommy takes in the sorry state of Alfie’s clothing, the mud caking on his trousers and covering his shirt. “Don’t tell me you’ve been fucking digging?”

“Fuck, of course I have,” Alfie sniffs and rubs his eyes with the back of a dirty hand. “Think I’d just sit around and wait? Bloody hell. Clearly you don’t know me at all, love.”

“Your back will be killing you tomorrow,” Tommy chastises fondly. He nestles back against Alfie’s body, ignoring the grime as he hides his face in his shirt again.   

“Trivial thing, innit? Furthermore, I think I’m deserving of a proper backrub after coming to your rescue.”

Yeah, Tommy reckons that he is.

“Oi, lovebirds, can we… get out of here now?” Someone calls from the room behind him.

Tommy suddenly remembers, and tries to tell Alfie. “David’s injured and- and Ollie’s on the verge of a mental breakdown or something-“

He should look up, but Alfie’s hand is heavy on the back of his head, so he remains right where he is, face buried in Alfie’s shirt.

“Shh, we’ll take care of it. It’ll all be fine, sweetheart.”

Alfie stars barking orders, a torch is passed through the opening in the wall of debris, Ishmael shows up in the hallway-

“I should…” Tommy mutters, he should- what should he do?

Alfie just hushes him and holds him a little tighter. “It’s alright, your part’s done, love. We’ve got it from here, yeah?”

It’s all a bit blurry after that. And afterwards, Tommy can’t even remember how he got out of the cellar.

 Up in the warehouse, a frenzied energy has hold of the room. People are milling about, firemen, nurses-  it’s a bloody circus. Tommy sees everything through a veil of exhaustion. His knees feel weak, and he’s dizzy, suddenly.

Ignoring all the people surrounding them, Alfie wraps an arm around his shoulders and leads him through the crowd. Tommy takes deep gulps of air, drinking it in and replacing all the stale dampness from the cellar.

 

It’s early morning when Tommy finally finds himself at home again. In the sofa. Clean, warm, and forcefully swaddled in blankets as Alfie fusses over him, mostly wandering about and muttering things under his breath as he tries to find a pair of socks for Tommy’s cold feet. Or yet another blanket. But eventually, after making him tea and toast –the only acceptable food at this hour according to Tommy- Alfie comes to sit with him, and Tommy can finally relax completely. He knows that Alfie needs to vent about the whole thing, and that for a few days, he won’t be hearing the end of it. But when he asks, Alfie just kisses his forehead. Tells him they’ll talk more after they’ve slept for a bit.

“Know you need some time, love. That’s alright. Just glad that you’re here, safe and sound. All that matters right now, innit?”

…

 Things are different afterwards. Between him and the others. Not that they talk about what happened –they’ve all got people at home for that sort of thing. But they exchange little pleasantries every now and then. Not to excess, because Tommy still prefers to not spend his days chattering. David keeps his distance. But at least he’s stopped glaring. 

Tommy realises just how much has changed one day when Arthur shows up at the bakery.

He’s is just on his way to the office when he hears raised voices coming from the entrance.

“For fucks sake, he’s my brother!”

“And how do I know that?”

“Because I fucking said so! Why would I lie?”

“We have all sorts coming ‘round here. Think that you being his brother and all should understand that we’ve got to keep a certain standard when it comes to security.”

Tommy makes his way through the dim interiors of the bakery towards the entrance. Arthur is standing opposite Ollie, arms crossed and forehead drawn into a frown. Mimicking his pose, Ollie is giving him a similarly grim look.

“Arthur,” Tommy says as he approaches. “Didn’t expect you to turn up here.”

“You know this man, Mister Shelby?” Ollie wonders.

“I told you I’m his brother,” Arthur snaps. “And for fucks sake, mate! We’ve met!”

Ollie thoroughly ignores him, still turned to Tommy.

“He is,” Tommy confirms, briefly entertaining the thought of denying it just to see what would happen. After another suspicious glare, Ollie steps aside and lets Arthur pass him.

Arthur follows Tommy.

“The fuck’s up with him,” he grunts and glances over his shoulder at Ollie, who’s watching their retreating backs with narrowed eyes.

“After the whole affair with Changretta, we’ve upped security a bit.”

“Yeah, sure, makes sense I suppose,” Arthur grunts.

“Want the grand tour?” Tommy asks and leads the way through the bakery, and Arthur lights up at the suggestion.

He shows Arthur around the distillery while his older brother tells him all the news from Birmingham. Though every once in a while he pauses to meet the suspicious glances from Alfie’s workforce.

“Why are so many of them glaring at me?”

“They’re not glaring.”

“They definitely are,” Arthur insists, and then lets out a chuckle. “Have you been talking shit about me?”

Tommy shrugs. “Maybe you just have one of those faces that pisses people off?”

Arthur gives him a hard shove, only to moments later have his arm caught by a hand. David has turned up seemingly out of nowhere.

“What’s going on here?” he says sharply, and looks between the two of them. “Is this man bothering you, Mister Shelby?”

“Always,” Tommy smirks.

“Oh, for the love of- _I’m his fucking brother_!” Arthur exclaims. Tommy nods in confirmation and motions for David to let go of Arthur.

“Can’t be too careful.” David stalks off, giving Arthur a warning look that could almost rival Alfie’s in intensity.  

Arthur stares at him with utter disbelief.

“Fucking hell, does everyone here have a bloody stick up their arse?” he mutters, but then makes a thoughtful pause. “Though… suppose I’m glad you’ve got people looking out for you when I’m not around. Good there’s several of them, too. It’s a fucking full time job.”

Now, it’s Tommy’s turn to glare, making a valiant effort to avoid Arthur’s hand when his older brother reaches to ruffle his hair. He fails.

Arthur is grinning now. “Stop pouting.”

“I’m not fucking pouting.”

“You definitely are.” Arthur makes even more of a mess of Tommy’s hair. “How about you show me something besides the inside of this place? I could use a pint.”

“Fine,” Tommy complies. “But Alfie is coming too.”

Arthur heaves a sigh. “Fine. Bring that menace along.” He gives Tommy a sly look. “As I said, always good to be at least two. Maybe we’ve got at least a fighting chance keeping you out of trouble then. ”

Tommy goes to fetch Alfie, but not before shoving Arthur into a barrel.

 


End file.
